The Song of a Dying Soul – Samuel Amazing Ayoade

THE SONG OF A DYING SOUL
Please let go of my hand, son
For I may not make it to the other side
Of the river – I have known weariness
My throat is soaked in bitter throes
I am choked in the cold heat of death warrant
I was a soldier- a gallant one
But my enemy has found me today
I have sold my soul
To vanity (I did not know)
For all I did was a vain entity
My integrity, I kept in vain – an identity
Lost in the sea of insanity
Ayinde, sanity demands that you watch your steps
.
Labake, allow me to break you today
For definitely, I shall not return from this journey
I am sorry for the rose I gave you
I am sorry for the ring – and those times
When living room became- boxing ring
Labake, I have broken my vows- I am sorry
I wish I had another chance
To rewrite our love story
I never knew it will wreck this way
May I say for the first and last time: I love you
My dove, let your heart perch on the branches of green
.
Daughter,
I have a garden beyond the golden sea
On which I sowed seeds, not little
But today are these eyes open
That my wheat I sowed amidst thorns
Forgive me Asake – that I could not care for you
I did set my heart on vanities
Daughter, let your seeds dis-virgin the earth
.
Let go of my hand, son
For I may not make it to end
Of the river- I Have known weariness
My throat is soaked in bitter throes
But I will wait for you at the shore
Beyond the lilies, I’ll stand
Till you finish the course of your soul
Goodnight…!
.
Samuel Amazing Ayoade BlazingPen (2017)

MANAGING WRITER’S BLOCK | SAMUEL AYOADE

“To excel in writing, get the skills and get the craze”
– Ayoola Goodness paraphrased
.
Good day, my name is Samuel Amazing Ayoade, for those of you who didn’t know, Amazing is my Birth name and not a nick. That was how I worked in a place sometimes ago and this particular man would call me Amechi instead of Amazing. How dem con resemble na? Abeg, I no be Amechi o, no kari EFCC con meet me o…
Now to business. What the hell on earth is this Writer-s block being rant about?
A state in a writing career when your muse seems to desert you, when no inspiration comes. When the harder you try to write, the more you end up making no sense. When you feel you have lost your gift, you are helpless, none around you understands, the environment has stopped communicating with you. There you are, you gat it. Writer-s Block.
But do you know that you can come to subdue this demon under your feet throughout your writing career? How? By prayer and fasting. LOL. I forgot I am not here to preach the Gospel of repentance, but of career excellence. Although, the place of God cannot be neglected in man-s endeavours.
Back on point, my point is, Writer-s Block on its own does not exist, it abstract, it’s not real. Did I write It’s not real? It’s real because we make it real. It is a feeling brought about by mental fatigue from over-consistency and inferiority complex. You will notice that it occurs mostly after along period of consistent writing. Is that correct? Okay. That means it is a sign that you are expelling more than you are taking in. The craze goes, the muse dies, because you stopped feeding it.
What kills a Writer the most is staying off reading. Your muse is strengthened when you read and gather new ideas.

Sometimes ago when I had this experience, I wrote a poem titled I HAVE STOPPED WRITING. This is another way to manage Writer-s Block. Put it to shame by writing about it. It’s experimentally proven that when you openly confess a sin, you don’t tend to fall into it. It appears like am preaching again, sweet Jesus! Consider this piece:
caught up
hanging between branches
with toes stretching to tread the future
but there is no future
in this picture….
It looks more like portraying an empty idea. At the same time , it the same time it’s obvious that the Writer is in a state of confusion. You can write further:
yet
in this mystery
is a ministry of hope
redefined, that dawn will break
when the tangles of this night are broken
Weeping, may endure, but a night
joy breaks the dawn.
I have successfully communicated hope to the hopeless while writing about my own worry of being blocked. Keep writing about it daily and you’ll be surprised that soon, other ideas to write about will flow in.

Another thing that gives you Writer-s … whatever, is this:
At times when I read some folk-s work, I feel humiliated. I mentioned inferiority complex up there. Yes, low self-esteem. But I don’t allow that to get me down, I rather work to improve on myself. I read wild and study new styles of writing. I forgot to mention that you should now stick to a particular style of writing. It’s good to give your work a,distinct voice, but explore other styles too, that’s how to keep being relevant, and not to go dry.
On the last note today. When I read Ayoola Goodness, I feel lifted, so I look out for his works to read. His style used to be clearly different from mine, but over time, I got to begin to connect to his spirits. Look out for Writers you cherish, explore their style. If you have their spirit, you’ll connect. Learn wild… Why am I even telling you this, continue enjoying Writer-s Holiday jare. And, if I see you write like me, I will…
Talk to you later.
c. 30 Nov. 2016

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First published on the website, ACEworld the link for which is
MANAGING WRITER’S BLOCK | SAMUEL AYOADE
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha

QUIENCE – by Samuel Amazing Ayoade

quience (this is still not the longest poem)
i
.
this silence is a symphony of death.
we dance to pledge allegiance to its sung dirge
of a frustrated future and castrated present
present in the heart
of this silence.
.
this silence is a reflexive response
to the stimulus that pricked adam’s heart
when there was no ecclipse
and the sun sat upon the seas
busy feasting on the forbidden fruit
we all took part in adam’s apple
we are all a part
of this silence
.
this silence, is a symphony of death.
.
ii
.
quience
.
this silence is a canker worm
hitting the liver of every muse with fever
this silence silences sirenes
and the cord of every discord
this quience is in your tongue, my tongue, your
thumb-print
on the day you endorsed silence
in the stead of bubblings
casting off our uniqueness off my thumb
silence is changed, change is silenced
this silence is the echo in the marks of our
thumbs
.
quience is the absence of sun, moon and stars
the seven heaven and the planets
quience is the dissolution of monuments and
stones –
the eviction and extinction of heaven and hell
this silence is not tangible
this quience exists only in our hearts.
.
quience iii
.
quience is the reverberations of our heart in its
cased caseine
it is the echo from the verbal chimneys of denied
progenies
denied the free gift of living
a minute quience for the souls of darkness
this is silence in the quience of my room –
a licence to exanguish nonsence for hi-sense
nonentity for a great entity, an identity of integrity
.
the ‘lord’ is in his holy temple beyond ‘the rock’
let all earth be ‘quiet!’ before him
dare you question his crazy ‘auto’rity?
this is the silence that flows in our veins
it is the veination on the tree that nailed our
manhood
.
quience is the shackle around our wrist
the struggle within the soul of our sole
whenever we are chained by the discretion of our
heart
our brain, our thoughts, tongue and thumb
.
i am silent, you are quiet
we dwell in quience
and we are the silence
.
this quience only exists in our hearts –
a reverberation of our cased heart
.
– Samuel Amazing Ayoade BlazingPen

ecclipse I – Samuel Amazing Ayoade

ecclesiastical lights
flickered
upon
the soul
of our laden
hearts that wear chains
and the soul that share
shame, stains, the regrets of saints
from saintly tongues that stammer, stagger
feets and hands are cold, on hold
and buttocks on deck, on desk celebrate
this ecclipsical silence

this ecclipsical silence –
a state of our heart.
.
– Samuel Amazing Ayoade BlazingPen
01-09-2016

SALAM ALAY’QUM – by Samuel Amazing Ayoade

Salam holds a glittering sword in his right
And a well sharpened matchete in his left
He cries for war in the nooks of every crannies
Roaring on our streets and panting for blood
With speeches decorated with tricks and cunnies
Salam Alay’kum, Salam Alay’kum, I have seen peace cry for war.
.
Salam wears a scary mask of threat
Feigning a smile behind a scary face
Throwing the metro into pandemonium
As cars jostle and run into one-and-other
As they try to hide theirselves outside the dark vacuum of peace
But, then came the kaboom of guns
From the marveling rifle in Salaam’s hands
I have heard men say,
“Salam Alay’kum, Peace Be Unto You”
But I have seen peace thirst for blood.
.
Salam errands for gods that suck blood
His reward lies in the bleeding souls of men
His delight is not in rams and goats
But in the bleeding throats of man
Presented to vultures in a dish of putrefying odour
Upon a large expanse of blood thirsty land
Salam professes peace with his mouth
But hold a sword to our neck
Salam Alay’kum! Tell Salam to keep his peace
For we all hate peace with passion.
.
– Samuel Amazing Ayoade BlazingPen

Call For Submission: AFAS REVIEW

Having taken cognizance of the need to give room for widespread inclusion of creative works in our annual publication, Association of Faculty of Arts Students, University of Ibadan is delighted to announce the call for submissions for the maiden edition of AFAS Review. This deviation from the norm – a turn-away from the Image Magazine – is geared towards creating a viable platform for the integration of works by writers/artists within and outside the university community.
The following categories are open to submissions:
Prose – essays, short stories and flash fictions not exceeding 2,000 words.
Poetry – a maximum of 3 poems per submission.
Drama – a brief satire not exceeding 2,500 words.
Artworks/photographs – visuals (in high resolution) portraying nature and traditional values.
Guidelines
There are no fixed themes. However, entrants should endeavor to explore relevant subject-matter.
Submissions are open to writers/artists from all parts of the world.
All submissions must be original, intellectual property of the entrants.
Submissions should be accompanied with a biography (not more than 100 words) and contact details of the entrant.
All entrants must be submitted via email to afasreview@gmai l.com with the subject – AFAS REVIEW.
Submission Deadline: 8th September, 2016
Selected entrants will receive a copy of the publication.
Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom
For: AFAS Review Committee
Signed:
Akubueze Chidiebere
Director of information, AFAS.

OGECHI VERONICA BECOMES CHRYSOLITE WRITER OF THE YEAR 2016

ogechi writer of the yearOgechi Veronica Ukwu is a young lady who hails from Arochukwu in Abia State, Nigeria. She is so obsessed with the love of poetry. A poem writer who believes she is the change the world needs. Her hobbies are singing, writing poems, articles and reading novels and motivational books. She is a writer and Vice President at Chrysolite Writerz, Nigeria (chrysolitewriterz.wordpress.com)
.

Facebook User I.D: http://www.facebook.com/ogebest04
Mobile number: 08062722748.

She came the 3rd in the CBPC-001 with her 4th place winning poem ‘Beyond the Invisible.’ 2nd in CBPC 003 and finally won the award of the Chrysolite Writer of the Year 2016 with the following Master-Piece taking a edge above Oki Kehinde Julius:

Sleepless Nights
.
The rain of heaviness
Sown together like stitches
The seams of anxiety
Quiet walls
Hoots of crickets
Boredom,bed doom
Night crawls in steathily
The golden lamp of heaven is on exile
Night calls
Eye sucks
Bountiful baskets of misery is here again
Stealing from this eyelids kisses
The gold in my safe locket is gone
Walls and stalls
Echoes and renaissance of turmoils
Oh!Charming dreamland
I beseech thee still
Seduce this night
My eyes to dance to the rhythm of your pleasurable caresses
Cage my weakness with thy strength
Lay me still
Like a captured lover
From horrors of darkness
Kisses of sorrow and pain
Traded in barter,a rest ruby from my fragile soul
Now and then, I roll
To and fro
The four cardinals revolve through my brain
These tyres are worn out
Yet no retirement
Now i join the gate keepers
And watch as the night chameleons into day
I sit not as a guard in the gates
But on the bed of thistles and thorns
To recount my tale of woe till daybreak
Sleep has resigned from my tent
Into tens of turbulent rivers of troubles
Sleep is a prisoner rotating this visual walls
The tickling of clocks
The day is here, in bundle i pick my baggage to fetch our butter.

ogebest
© 2016
Ogechi Veronica